“I feel like I can finally apologize the right way,” Roscoe whispered, tears now pouring from his eyes. His entire bodycrumbled into a submissive stance while gauging Darryl’s reaction. “I know nothin’ I ever do will make it up to you but just knowin’ you got a piece of yer dad back will be enough fer me.”
The huge werewolf took a few steps toward Roscoe, extending a trembling right hand to grab the handle. He set the case flat on the spool table before lifting the latches. Slowly, he pulled it open before breaking into a light sob.
“Darryl?” I asked, stepping close to him as he hovered over the instrument.
He turned and scooped me into his arms before dragging Roscoe in close, burying his nose into the crook of his neck.
“I forgave you a long time ago, Roscoe,” Darryl whispered, his deep voice breaking. “I thought you didn’t care about me. I was there as a way to score easy drugs, but when I cooled down, I remembered what you did all those years ago. You could have used the money you gave me, but you were trying to get clean, and you didn’t want me to fall into that life. At that moment in time, I was more important to you than the drugs were.”
He let us go and wiped his eyes with the back of his arm.
“You came back with Cody, and I found out you rescued someone else, just like you did me all those years ago. You made a really bad mistake, and it took me a while to understand that. I never hated you. I was angry.” He pressed his forehead into Roscoe’s. “I love you, dude. You’ll always be my packmate.” He turned to me. “And you!” His tears turned into laughter. “You’re worth a lot more than this guitar ever was. I knew that when I met you.”
“Now you’re just being sappy,” I said, sitting down on one of the plastic chairs surrounding the wooden spool table.
“Yeah, but I mean it. How did you even know what the guitar looked like?”
“It’s a long story,” I said, pointing to the cooler. “How about I tell you over some beers?”
“You like drinking beer now?” Darryl asked, cracking open the container before tossing me a bottle.
“Nope, it’s still gross, but tonight I’ll make an exception.”
The beach was empty except for six of us gathered around the bonfire; Roscoe was hard at work on Thanksgiving dinner in the kitchen. All the scents of food and flames filled the air as Darryl began playing his father’s guitar. There was something almost magical about the music, like he’d been holding it in for years.
The giant beach wolf swayed from side-to-side as his fingers nimbly traced the strings along the neck, the pointer and thumb claws of his other digits meticulously plucking each note. The guitar sang just as Mosavi described.
I kept glancing over at the elder, studying his face. It did little good because I could never tell his exact emotions just by looking at him. Stony indifference? Stony interest? That’s all I got as he sat on the sand, his arms crossed.
With the final note, the guitar resonated far longer than it had before, filling the air as the ocean waves applauded.
Mosavi uncrossed his arms, rubbing the fur on his chest, the hackles on the back of his neck raised. “I remember this.”
“Thanks for taking good care of my guitar,” Darryl said with a cocky smile, knowing what he’d accomplished. “Never seen it so polished before.”
“You really are his grandson. Darryl Shields.” Mosavi drew in a deep breath, the intensity of his stare remaining. “If it weren’t so absurd, I’d believe in reincarnation.”
“Shields. I haven’t gone by that name since I was human.”
“It was foolish of you to change it, knowing the greatness behind such a name.” Mosavi’s hackles finally flattened againsthis smooth mane. “Perhaps I wouldn’t have given up on you so easily.”
“I’m glad you did. I didn’t want that life.” He looked around at the ocean. “Everything I’ve ever wanted is right here.”
Even though he was annoyed at first, Mosavi’s face shattered into something much softer. “Sebastian always performed with his eyes closed as well.”
“I need to be in a different place when I play these pieces,” Darryl said. “When I close my eyes, I can see every note as a ribbon. Each one is a different color, and I can picture where my fingers should be at just the right moment. It’s my way of slowing time. Dad always told me that’s the way his father played, but my dad could never see the notes like that. He kept his eyes open.”
“You transcend reality,” Mosavi said, a wide smile finally parting his face. “I could never replicate the feeling myself with the violin, but I’ve come as close as I’ll ever get. You go well beyond that. It’s genius, as much as I hate to admit it.”
Darryl laughed. “Genius is a little too flattering for a stoner werewolf living in a shack on the beach.”
“Perhaps,” Mosavi said, his eyes almost glistening. “Perhaps merit shouldn’t be based solely upon appearance.” He turned to me. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
Willa turned and gave her husband a surprised look.
“Oh?” I said, rubbing my palms in anticipation of the crow he was about to eat.
“I owe you one, but you’re not getting it. We still have a lot of work ahead of us.”
